The list
by RnTshipper
Summary: Molly tries to get over her obsession of Sherlock with the help of her other pet obsession - ticking things off a list. How far will she go in her 'Things to do to get over Sherlock' list? Read and find out : )
1. Chapter 1

**_I know the plot is stale but I've tried to bring a new angle to it. All rights to BBC, Moffat and Gattis. Thanks MizJoely for being a great beta. Please Read and Review :)_**

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Molly Hooper was lying on her couch, eyes closed and hands folded over her head. She had had an exhausting day and even now wasn't completely relaxed because she was waiting for her phone to go 'ding' with a message from a certain annoying consulting detective – "Don't switch off your phone Molly – I never know when unexpected evidence might turn up and I don't want to depend on that quivering oaf" – that 'quivering oaf' being a new lab attendant.

_He's quivering because __**you**__ scared him to death you idiot! What kind of a man screams at a new employee on his first day?! He __**knew**_ that_ ! Oh he knew! Things like that are obvious to him! Does he have no sense of pro- Oh what the hell! He's Sherlock! I'm pretty sure his whole amygdala is missing and in its place, he has a highly inaccurate index of 'facial cues and appropriate responses'. That idiot! Thanks to him the new worker won't help me and I'm doing double the work with the bonus of being called '__**John'**__ from time to time! Oh lovely Molly, just lovely! Rude intelligent men, scared unhelpful coworkers, fiendishly unpredictable office hours, dead bodies –_

At that last thought Molly suddenly sat up with a deep frown on her face – something had just hit her and the knowledge the sudden realization gave her was slowly filling her with self-disgust. She was letting Sherlock walk over her because of her crush, but now this crush was ruining her first love – human anatomy and its many mysteries. She **chose **to be a pathologist and loved being one. Dead bodies were **never **a problem before,but all the emotional turmoil and the overwork was turning her off from what she once dearly loved and worked hard at.

_That's it,_ she thought with a touch of defiance. _I've sacrificed too many things for him but he's not going to take away from me the one thing that keeps me sane – the interest I have in my work. This will never stop if, as usual, I melt at the sight of him. I have to be strong. I have to understand that Sherlock is indifferent to me – he probably won't even notice if I stop helping him. Somebody else will take that role and he'll only notice when they get his coffee wrong. Alright then Molly, stop being a lab assistant and start being what you are – a damned good pathologist!_ With that final thought, she smiled confidently to herself, switched off her phone and headed out. She knew she needed a lot of things to keep Sherlock Holmes from out of her head and her life – right then, the things that seemed the most helpful were shopping for stationery, fish and chips, and a movie. As she locked the door there was only one thought in her head…_I __**can**__ flush him out and I __**will.**_


	2. Molly prepares the list

_**I know the chapter is tiny but I tho**_**_ught everyone should first see the list before they read about how she is coping with the 'getting over' part. All rights to BBC, Gattis and Moffat._**

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Things to do to get over Sherlock.

Reality check – He won't declare undying love to you just because you helped him do a chemical analysis. His indifference does not make him a villain. He uses you because you let him. If you don't help him, somebody else will. Remember this before you stupidly nod your head to all his requests.

Prepare yourself –He probably won't even notice that somebody else is helping him, but if he _does _notice, he'll know something is up the moment you say 'no'. He'll cajole you, provoke you and he'll even be rude. **Be prepared for all contingencies.** Write down a list of all the possible compliments and insults that he might throw at you and be ready with responses.

Buy a decent pair of headphones. You're not clever enough to respond to all his comments – blocking out his voice might be the only choice you'll have.

Organize – You're a mess. Make a list of all the topics you're interested in and see if you have all the necessary text books. Get your research on track. Prepare a time table and settle in to a routine. You need it. Don't be lazy about book and magazine shopping. Don't let Mike or anybody else for that matter pressure you into helping Sherlock.

Don't be a Scrooge! You have enough money for a good table and a decent microscope. This way, you need not be at the lab all the time.

STOP READING JOHN'S BLOG AND SHERLOCK'S WEB-SITE – 'ways to identify a piano player' won't help you in your research of idiopathic disorders.

Don't be a lone ranger – you're not a cowboy. Since Toby can't talk, ask a friend's help. Should I talk to mum about it? At least consider the idea.

Stop watching romantic comedies. Maintain a strict diet of comedies and non-romantic animation movies.

**GET A GUY! – **Sherlock and Moriarty aren't the only kinds of guys out there, steel yourself up. DON'T DATE GUYS WHO RUN INTO SHERLOCK ON A DAILY BASIS. Guys to be avoided – John, Lestrade, D.I. Dimmock and Anderson.

Go at least on three dates with a guy before you decide he's not the one. Don't be too picky – if he looks like a human and shows interest in you, that's more than enough. You're not Angelina Jolie so don't wait for Brad Pitt.


	3. The ticking begins

_**Kristina, Sammy Katz, N, A guest, Rocking the red head, Renaissancebooklover108, magic strikes, Magentacr, Crimson and Chrome 42, LadyK1138, Arty diane and all the people who have favorited this story and are following it - A huge thank you! Thanks MizJoely for being an amazing beta. Sorry for the delay but I had some computer issues. I hope you like the third chapter. I own nothing. All rights to BBc, Moffat and gattis. Please R&R !**_

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Sherlock and Molly were in the lab and anyone looking at them would've been stunned at the sudden role reversal that had taken place. Molly was looking in to a microscope while muttering something to herself and Sherlock was staring at her with a small frown on his face. He looked puzzled – Molly's behavior was not making any sense to him. He had noticed two weeks ago that she wasn't helping him with his experiments anymore – she had somehow convinced the new lab tech to replace her. (He had found this out when, to his "Thank you John", he got an "It's Terry" rather than "It's Molly.")

Since his talents lay in interrogation rather than conversation, he tried to make sense of this change in her behavior, not by talking to her but by trying to deduce her. His deductions didn't give him anything conclusive – no new or special-looking clothes to indicate a relationship, no changes in the structure of her fingers or the musculature of her arms to indicate a new hobby, no noticeable change in her mood to indicate an emotional turmoil – in a word, nothing. The _only_ change in her behavior was that she was busy doing _her _work, rather than his.

Finally his curiosity got the better of his distaste for conversation and he (very unwillingly) broke the silence –

"Your phone's not working Molly"

"…"

"Molly?" he said with voice slightly raised.

"…" and a rustle of papers as she tried to locate a particular sheet she wanted.

"Molly!" he said, a bit more loudly.

This time, she jumped a little and turned on her stool to face Sherlock, with a slightly alarmed expression on her face. "Oh…Hello Sherlock… Do you need something? Where's Terry?" she said, looking around.

"Your phone's not working," he repeated.

"Huh?" she said absentmindedly and took out her mobile phone to check it out – it was perfectly fine.

"It's perfectly fine, Sherlock," she said with a slight frown on her face.

Sherlock mirrored her expression – his deductions were never wrong and yet there was Molly saying that her phone was perfectly fine. He stared at the phone in her hand a bit longer before he suddenly got up and went to Molly's table to grab the phone out of her hand. Molly was a bit surprised at his reaction but looked on with increasing bewilderment as he started going through the settings of her phone.

Finally he muttered, "It _is_ fine…" and looked up to face Molly. He still had that puzzled expression on his face. Molly couldn't bear the suspense anymore and broke the silence. "Is something wrong, Sherlock?"

"I guess…If your phone is in a perfect working condition, why didn't you respond to my messages?"

Molly's face took on a curious expression – lips pulled down slightly and eyebrows raised a bit – as if she was sizing him up. Before Sherlock could run her expression through his scanner, she started speaking. "You assumed my phone wasn't working because I didn't respond to your messages?"

"I don't _assume_ Molly, I _deduce_. And my deductions led me to the conclusion that your phone's faulty," he said with a tight expression on his face.

"Ah, your deductions…and what, pray tell, were they?" she said in a sing song voice, turning back to her microscope.

Sherlock got even more irritated if that was possible. Molly didn't use a sing song voice, she didn't turn away from him when he was talking and she definitely did not use sarcasm when talking to him. The day was too full of contradictions and worst of all, contradictions that weren't making _any sense!_ That a plain pathologist couldn't be deduced was driving Sherlock Holmes insane. He took a deep breath and started talking in a measured, albeit, strained voice.

"You, a perfectly sane person, acquainted with the nature of my profession, would immediately respond to any urgent requests for help, unless you didn't receive those messages, in which case, the natural conclusion is that _your phone is malfunctioning,"_ he finished emphatically.

While Sherlock was talking, Molly didn't even do him the kindness of looking up from her microscope. Still engrossed in whatever she was looking at, she replied in a monotone. "Only you would consider that a logical conclusion Sherlock. Any other person would've thought – " and here she looked up at him and added, " – correctly, that I was busy with some other work and hence couldn't respond."

Her dry tone and her blank expression finally hit home and realization dawned on Sherlock. He started speaking in an excited tone, eyes agleam with triumph, "OH…I knew this was going to happen but I thought it would happen two or three years before your menopause when you'd be desperate to have kids! But I guess I'm wrong. You can't always size up people correctly. Anyway, good for you Molly! Pray tell, what brought on the realization?" he finished with a smug smirk firmly in place and hands thrust in to his coat pockets.

"What realization?" she asked, though she already knew the answer the moment he said 'menopause'. She was only biding her time so that she could work up her courage to give her prepared response. Oh, yes – Molly Hooper takes her lists very seriously. 'Be prepared' she told herself and prepared she was going to be. She had sat down and made a list of all the things Sherlock would say to insult her and she wrote down the appropriate responses – she'd do anything to tick off a point on her list. _This list thing might actually work,_ she thought with an inward smile as Sherlock started speaking again.

"The realization that obliging me professionally will _never_ elicit a sexual or romantic reaction from me" he said with that same smug expression.

"Oh, it occurred to me when I started thinking in pure biological terms," she said with a small sweet smile.

"What?" he said taken aback by her reply _and _her expression. _Where is the emotional outburst, the sudden paling of the skin and where are the strained muscles in her neck?_

"You see," she replied, her confidence increasing as she took in his apparently stunned expression, "I thought, in purely biological terms, that any…_banana_…if you know what I mean, can satisfy my…_urge_ and waiting for a particular kind of banana, seemed…downright stupid. I mean, bananas are all same, right?" she finished with a small smile on her face and hands neatly folded over her knees.

Sherlock was stupefied. Knowing Molly as he did, he expected an emotional outpouring with wild gesticulations, even a slap, but not…_science!_ A pathologist talking biology shouldn't surprise anyone but…_this is Molly for heaven's sake!_

Still frowning, he nodded slightly and left the lab with a very non-Sherlock gait. After he left, Molly got up from her stool, went to her office and took out her journal. With a huge smile on her face, she put a tiny, confident tick against "Prepare yourself." She had put a similar tick against "Reality check" the previous night when, after three hours of ignoring them, the flurry of text messages from Sherlock finally stopped.


	4. Truth and nothing but the truth

_**Loonybin3, magentacr, Renaissancebooklover108, Sammykatz, Anatomydoc, monnalisa, Guest, Kristina and all the people who have favorited the story and are following it - Thank you for your encouragement. It means everything to me :) There's nothing funny in this chapter but I thought this chapter would show the readers how well Molly is progressing. **_

_**All rights to BBC, Gattis and Moffat. Please read and review :)**_

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Molly was at the scientific goods store, reading a catalogue about microscopes. She had already bought a table and wanted to make a good investment on a microscope. Since she had decided to spend a hefty part of her savings on it, she decided she should get her money's worth. She was so engrossed in perusing the catalogue that she didn't notice the entrance of a tall man in a long coat.

"Buying supplies for the lab, Molly?"

She jumped a little at hearing the well known voice in an unexpected place but she quickly recovered. She turned around to face Sherlock and replied, "No Sherlock, not for the lab."

He looked at the microscope catalogue in her hand and frowned slightly before sayin_g_, "All that money on a microscope…you _are _determined to get over me."

It was Molly's turn to frown. But she smiled a little smile and shook her head slightly before walking away to the counter to read the catalogue in peace. Sherlock broke into a wide smile. _One all,_ he thought, chalking up Molly's silence as a victory – he was still smarting from the _very_ uncomfortable Biology class. Any other man would have been satisfied with Molly's silence and would have gone about his business (in Sherlock's case, buying a new lens for his own microscope) without provoking her further but no, Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective gets off on gloating – having the last word is just the beginning for him. So he walked to the counter to stand beside Molly. Placing his elbows on the counter and locking his fingers he faced her and started taunting her with an impish smile on his face.

"What, no biology class for me today?"

Molly opened her mouth to reply but then remembered something she had written in her journal – _His indifference does not make him a villain. It's not fair to punish him for behaving like this, I let him treat me like this, and it's not his fault, _she thought. She repeated her earlier gesture, the smile and the head shake, and went back to reading her catalogue.

Sherlock correctly interpreted her gesture as hesitation and provoked her further by saying, with raised eyebrows and a lopsided smile: "Are you hesitating?! You _actually_ think that you can say something that can offend me?! Molly, you are buying a microscope to get over me so trust me when I tell you that today, I'll indulge you. It's not fair to be cruel to a person who's trying so hard," he said with a fake kind expression on his face.

During the course of his speech Molly's face was becoming more and more thoughtful though her eyes were still on the catalogue. When he stopped talking she looked at the catalogue for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath and, with a determined expression, closed it to face a Sherlock with a very calm expression.

"Sherlock, I know my behavior towards you for the past few years has been very unprofessional. I regret losing control like that and I'm sorry. It must have been very inconvenient for you to have a person fawning over you like that. I gave you the impression that my whole world revolves around you," here Sherlock started saying something, but she stopped him by slightly raising her hand and her voice and continued, "and I have to admit that, for a while, it did. But it's different now. I've remembered what my first love was and I want you to understand this – I haven't turned to research to forget you, Sherlock; I'm trying to get over you so that I can concentrate on my research. Like many others I've been caught up in the exciting frenzy of your investigations but… I don't want 'Sherlock's assistant' to be my only credit." She finished her speech with a small nod and turned away from him to go to a sales person.

Sherlock was speechless. He'd been prepared for everything except what Molly had given him – the calm truth. He kept staring at her as she chose her model and walked out of the store with it.

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Molly was elated. She almost danced the moment she was inside her flat. She quickly ran to her new table and took out her journal. She put a tick against the fifth point in the list and stared at it for a long time, pen in hand. Her hand hovered near the title 'Things to do to get over Sherlock' – she wanted to write 'mission accomplished' beside it. She had a very long conversation with him without embarrassing herself, surely she was over him, wasn't she? But then her eyes found another point – 'get a guy.' She snapped the book shut as she realized she wouldn't know if she got over Sherlock until she found a man she could be happy with.

_Get a guy_ she thought, collapsing onto her couch. That particular step seemed insurmountable – she never was good at finding guys. She heaved a huge sigh but then shook herself and said, "One step at a time. You've bought the table and the microscope and in a few more days, you'll have your very own lab. It's time to celebrate." With that she reached for her mobile to call her best friend, Mary Morstan.


	5. Lone ranger gets company

**_A huge thanks to reviewers, followers and those who have favorited the story. Thank you very much - your encouragement means the world to me. Nothing special in this chapter - just two friends enjoying each other's company. Thank you MizJoely for making the story readable. Sorry for the huge delay. it's just that I'm trying to keep the story fresh. I hope you enjoy it. _**

_**All rights to BBC, Gattis and Moffat. Please read and review : )**_

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The two women were in the living room, sitting comfortably on the large couch, facing each other. They were talking happily, sharing food, soda and conversation. Judging from their easy laughter, they looked like they had been friends for a long time. The friends were looking at a table and a microscope placed on it.

"Wow…the table's a beauty! So big, all those drawers – I can't believe you actually bought a fancy desk with shelves attached for books! I'm so jealous of you," said Mary Morstan to Molly Hooper.

Molly's face was flushed with pleasure. She had spent a mini fortune on that desk and was glad that Mary liked it. Especially since she'd half-expected her best friend to scold her for being too extravagant.

"Thanks! I thought you'd yell at me for splurging money like that."

"It's not splurging if you buy useful things. That microscope looks high-end, too."

"It is, actually – " Molly stopped mid sentence looking at the expression on Mary's face. She looked amused, her expression saying as clear as words, "I know you're up to something Molly, so you may as well tell me now."

"What?"

"You know what."

"I don't, actually."

"Ooo…kay," Mary started while throwing glances at all the books stuffed in odd places in the room, "You're spending your free time in bookshops buying magazines and textbooks, you're turning your living room in to a laboratory and," she finished, looking straight at her friend, "you're spending the weekend with me instead of a corpse. You want to tell me what's going on?"

Molly was a silent for a minute, looking at her hands, as if thinking about how she should say the next sentence. Finally she took a small breath and started speaking.

"You know about my crush on Sherlock, I suppose ?"

"Just a crush?"asked Mary softly, with a tiny smile.

"Just a crush," replied Molly with a determined expression on her face. She continued, "Well, I decided I was wasting my time mooning over him and neglecting my research in the process, so I decided to make a list."

"Oh…" said Mary with a knowing smile on her face. She had been friends with Molly since middle school and knew very well how lists worked wonders with Molly's determination. She still felt pity for Jody Miller – "Stop Jody Miller from bullying" had been the title of one of Molly's lists and stop her she did. She dissected (figuratively of course) Miller during a school debate, in front of a thousand school children and left her staring at her shoes with a stupefied expression. Given Molly's reputation with lists, Mary felt a little worried for whoever became the target for the latest one.

"So, what is this list about?"

"Getting over Sherlock and concentrating on research."

"All right…" said Mary slowly.

"What is it Mary?" asked Molly, confused about the worry clearly written on her friend's face.

After a little hesitation Mary started speaking again, "Molly I'm really glad you're getting everything under control, but – ''

"But what?"

"It's just that you carrying out your lists ends every time with you confronting, rather violently, the person who created problems for you and I'm worried that – "

"I'll confront Sherlock and he'll say something rude and I'll end up depressed in my bedroom, is that it?",finished Molly with a small, confident smile on her face.

"Yes," said Mary, sounding a little surprised by Molly's accurate reading.

"It's okay, you don't need to be worried," Molly reassured her friend. "The confrontation happened already and it wasn't violent at all. Besides, the list is not about Sherlock. It's about me – I'm tired of wasting my time and intelligence on a crime-solving genius with crappy social and emotional skills. I just…I just want to feel the thrill of learning and understanding again, the thrill I first felt when making sense of anatomy in my first lab…" finished Molly with a dreamy expression, eyes focused on a window behind Mary. When she snapped out it and looked at Mary, she was rather taken aback at the wide smile plastered on her friend's face.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously.

Mary gave Molly a hug before answering. "I'm so proud of you, Molly. I always knew you were sensible and I must say you bounced back very quickly."

Molly returned the hug happily. She had been slogging on the list for close to a month and any appreciation was more than welcome. While hugging Mary she remembered something and when they broke apart she started speaking. "One other thing, I…it's just that…I was wondering if you could set me up with someone you know. Or, just tell me if there's any good dating web-site that you know about." She felt uncomfortable talking about it. The one time she dated a coworker, he turned out to be a criminal mastermind. She wanted to do things differently this time.

However Mary didn't seem perturbed at all. She merely said, "Hmm…wait," and started thinking about the men she knew. She finally seemed to decide on a guy because she suddenly looked up and said, "Yes, I guess I know someone. Just let me talk to him and I'll call you after everything's set."

After that, both of them talked for a little longer and Mary left with the promise that she'd talk to the person she knew. Once Mary left, Molly took out her journal and put a tick against "Don't be a Lone Ranger."

Things were finally looking up – she had asked Sherlock (politely) to back off, she had her very own lab, spent a quite happy evening with her friend and had a date to look forward to the next week. _You rock, Molly Hooper_ she thought as she sat at her new desk and pulled the new microscope towards herself.


	6. The Battle Begins

_**Thank you for all the reviews, follows and favourites! Sorry for the huge delay but writer's block visited my head and stayed - obviously it was on a very leisurely vacation and was in no hurry to leave. Also, I had to spend some time doing research. 'Sherlock BBC' does not belong to me but you already know that. So...Please read and review :)**_

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Molly was at her desk at home, looking at a sheaf of papers in her hand with a very puzzled expression on her face. Her research was in full swing – she was reading a case file about a rare disease and something wasn't adding up. It was the file of a mother and daughter affected by Fatal Familial Insomnia. They had died within months of each other due to the same disease – complications brought on by the inability to sleep. Seeing that the disease was, well familial, there should have been nothing to be suspicious about, but she was. She had her reasons; it wasn't just some vague hunch, but she didn't know if she could justify those reasons.

Since it was a rare case and one that involved complicated mutated genes, she wasn't sure if she wasn't being a conspiracy theorist – she didn't want to damage the credibility of the doctor who was in charge of the case, but at the same time…._Credibility be damned…there are too many red flags here. Should I investigate it myself or I should I bring him in ?_ she was thinking, looking at her journal. She knew what Sherlock's reaction would be…_Ah…a case, trying to impress me Molly?_ she thought to herself, smiling ruefully. When she read the file again, the discrepancies and the circumstances seemed too serious to ignore and she finally decided being priggish won't do, no matter how much of a beating her self-respect might take.

With a sigh of resignation she opened the web-site 'The Art of Detection' and started typing up the case. That night, right before going to bed, she thought wistfully about the sixth point in her journal…_God…just when everything was so perfect…I hope I don't get too involved._

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Sherlock opened his web site to enter another article about the different types of clay found in London. Though it was obvious that the cases these days came through John's blog, he checked his inbox out of sheer habit – something he'd developed during the early days of his career when he was desperate for cases. To his surprise he found a case but when he read it through, his excitement petered out completely – it looked like someone was being too paranoid. He looked at the name of the sender and for the second time that night was surprised – it was Molly Hooper.

Apparently she found something suspicious in a three-year-old case file. Sherlock frowned and started rubbing his neck – he was in a dilemma. He had known Molly Hooper for three years by then and this was the first time that she sent a case his way. Also her observation powers were _definitely_ not below par, and if she found something suspicious, then it would be at least safe (if not prudent) to look into the case. Besides Molly Hooper was…_a friend? A friend…seems odd, calling her that. Never really occurred to me to give her a category._ He quickly shook off the confusion in his head, thinking _Categories, pfft! Categories are silly!_

He closed his laptop and went to his bedroom to go to sleep. It only occurred to him right when he was about to sleep that Molly had sent a mail to his web site rather than call him, and such depersonalized contact…bothered him. Another very uncomfortable realization hit him at that moment, that in the future it would always be like that – she would spend less time at the lab, she'd e-mail him rather than call, she wouldn't come to the Christmas parties because she'd have her own – here, he shook his head violently and put himself to sleep with the thought: _Don't be absurd, she's still a pathologist, you'll meet her at the lab, she'll be there. In fact you'll meet her tomorrow to talk about the case. She'll be there…_

She wasn't there. It was noon time and Sherlock was at the lab, looking resentfully at the empty work platform. He called her mobile, but she wasn't answering. After calling her for the umpteenth time, he took a deep breath to calm his frustration and started doing what he did best – deducing. He reasoned that since Molly Hooper took her work very seriously, she wouldn't have taken the entire day off. He didn't think she took a sick day because then, in a hurry to get home she wouldn't think about putting her phone on silent, which he thought was the case now. And if she took some extra time out for lunch _and _put her phone on silent then there was only one thing she could be doing – _she's on a date,_ he thought, furrowing his brow even deeper.

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"I know it's not a great place but I need to be close by in case there's an emergency at work. Thank you for agreeing to see me here," said Molly with an apologetic smile. She was on a date with a guy Mary introduced to her, Harry Cunningham. She had to admit that Mary had good taste in men. Though he was of an average height, he was well groomed and had a quite, confident bearing. He was not exactly handsome, but he wasn't ugly either – a rather pale face, thick dark blonde hair, combed meticulously and glasses framing his green eyes. He seemed as shy as she was but he didn't make things awkward with forced conversation.

They were both silent on the way from Bart's to the café. Once they got there, he kept the conversation pretty basic. Introduced himself properly – he was a professor of sociology, had met Mary when he was a member of a focus group (Mary worked as a secretary for the British Government), asked Molly about her work and impressed her by not flinching when she started talking about dead bodies and post mortems. Molly was talking about her research when she heard a falsely cheerful: "Hello Molly!" and froze. She couldn't see the owner of the voice but she'd recognize Sherlock's faux cheerful voice anywhere.

_Perfect, just perfect._

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_A.N: Fatal Familial Insomnia is a real disease. It's genetic. People affected die within eighteen months of the emergence of the first symptoms. A very tiny fraction also get it through the non-genetic route supposedly due to particles called prions( 'supposedly' - because their existence is severely debated in the medical circles)_

_ 'Harry Cunningham' is some random name I picked up, but later I found out that 'Cunningham' is the name of an ancient Scottish clan._

_So...Did you like the chapter?_


	7. Disaster management

_**Thank you for the reviews everyone :) This chapter will be short, but I promise I'll write a decently long chapter the next time. I'll try and end this story in two more chapters - getting a feeling that I'm dragging this one unnecessarily. All rights to BBC, Moffat and Gattis.**_

_**Read and Review, please :)**_

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_Perfect. Just Perfect._

She set her face to a normal expression as Sherlock approached the table she and Harry were sitting at. As he sat down without asking them if he could join them (_No…don't even ask our permission you idiot, the whole world belongs to you after all,_ thought Molly to herself sarcastically) Molly slightly turned towards him with a small smile on her face. _I can still stop this date from being a disaster if I play my cards right,_ she was thinking, rapidly going through all the possible scenarios in her head. She quickly decided that Sherlock shouldn't even be given the opportunity to open his mouth because a flurry of deductions would follow that would most definitely ruin any future chance of dating the sociology professor. All this thinking took place during the very short duration between Sherlock's 'hello' and his arrival at the table, so when he finally sat down, she was ready.

She said in a pleasant voice, "Harry, I'm sure you know Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Dr. Harry Cunningham, a professor of sociology."

After making the introductions she didn't give Sherlock or Harry the time to talk and started speaking again, saying, "You're probably here to speak about the case that I wrote to you about. Sorry to disappear from the lab like that. I thought you'd call if you were interested in the case. You didn't call, so…I made plans." Here she paused to point to Cunningham with her hand.

She started talking again but now addressed herself to her date, "I'm really sorry, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with Sherlock – suspicious deaths of a mother and daughter. I know I haven't exactly been an ideal date what with bringing you to a rundown café," she said shrugging her shoulders and giving the whole café a once over and continued, "and then talking about leaving half-way through it, but if you're even remotely interested, please, give me a call." She picked up a napkin, wrote down her number on it and handed it to Cunningham.

He took the napkin with a small smile and said in a pleasant voice, "It's okay, Molly, nothing to apologize about, really. I know the kind of emergencies Mr. Holmes is involved in," he said looking at Sherlock. "So I understand it must be something important," he finished, still smiling.

Molly stood up with a sigh of relief, shook hands with Harry and started walking out of the café, with a small nod of the head to Sherlock indicating that he should follow. Once outside the café, she started talking while still walking, "So about the case, what do you think?"

Sherlock was matching her stride very easily as he replied, "What, straight to the case, not going to ask me how I found you and you new _boyfriend_?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"He's not my boyfriend. That was my first date with him. And no point in asking you how you knew because you probably thought I'd be in a place from which I could get to Bart's quickly if there's an emergency," she said without looking at him.

His face showed slight surprise because the reason she gave was spot on. He knew that if she took permission for a long lunch, she'd still make sure to be in the neighborhood in case of an emergency. He quickly changed his expression to neutral (she had caught him off guard once, a year ago, and he wasn't going to let that happen again).

When Sherlock didn't say anything about the case, she asked him about it again, and he replied, sounding rather uncomfortable, "You won't like what I'm going to say. It's better if we have this conversation in some place that's not so public."

That statement made her stop and look at him with a puzzled expression on her face. He stopped too, with his hands in his coat. He just cleared his throat and continued in the same uncomfortable tone. "I'm sure that once when I've finished explaining my view, you'll start yelling at me."

Molly just gave a small confused shrug of her shoulders and started walking towards St. Bart's again. Once they were in the lab, she turned towards Sherlock with an expression that plainly asked, without any words, "Well?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and started speaking, "Molly, there's no case. Frankly, I don't understand why you sent it to me in the first place."

Molly had to admit that she felt an overwhelming urge to yell at Sherlock. She hadn't been ambiguous in her mail at all. She'd listed all her reasons for considering the deaths suspicious, so she was confused and slightly furious that Sherlock was currently standing in front of her telling her there was no case. She took two steps toward one of the lab tables and leaned on one of them for support. She took a deep breath to calm the fury that was filling up her brain and started talking in what she hoped was an even tone, "Sherlock, the progress of the daughter's symptoms was anomalous, her condition worsened _after_ she was shifted from her room _and –_" here, she lifted her free hand to point it towards Sherlock, "The symptoms were anomalous _while_ she was using her room. Sherlock, you've taken up cases for circumstances _far_ less suspicious than these, are you kidding me?!"she finished with an expression that suggested _very clearly _that she found Sherlock's statement utterly ridiculous.

Sherlock replied in an equally belligerent voice, "Molly, it's a genetic disease – nowhere is it written that it has to follow an exact pattern. And the whole room changing and symptoms worsening could well be a coincidence! What do you expect me to say to this doctor? That I question his handling of the cases based on circumstantial evidence?! I'm a detective Molly, not a doctor!"

"Well, I _am_ a doctor!" she yelled back taking a step towards Sherlock, her hands balled up in to fists and veins showing in her neck. She continued in the same dangerous voice: "_I _know that there's something suspicious about the girl's death. You are not the court! _You_ don't decide what's circumstantial evidence and what's not. A girl died, possibly knowing that she was being killed and that she couldn't do anything about it. Now she will never get justice because a _stupid_, _judgmental_ consulting detective won't even _look_ into her case!" she spat out venomously.

If Sherlock was surprised the first time Molly deduced him, right before he met Moriarty on Bart's roof, the surprise was nothing compared to what he was feeling now – pure awe. He was amazed at Molly's passion for the case. Though he still thought there was no case, he saw a small opportunity for himself. _If I'm going to waste my time on a wild goose chase, I might as well get something out of it_ he thought, smiling inwardly but maintaining a steely expression for Molly's benefit.

"Fine", he said in a voice that he struggled to keep angry and resentful, "I'll look in to the case, but – ''he paused to give effect to his words and Molly crossed her arms to look at him suspiciously as he continued, "— I expect some form of payment."

"Oookay…what do you want?" Molly asked in a cautious manner.

"Your services. In the lab. Terry's driving me insane."

"For how long?"

"Depends on how mundane this case turns out to be," he said and stalked out of the lab with his trademark Batman stride. While he waited outside for a taxi, he smiled triumphantly._ How are you going to avoid me now, Molly?_

* * *

Molly was still at the lab, sitting at one of the tables, clutching her head. _Great! Now you've gone and become indebted to that git – a veritable Shylock! He'll milk it for all it's worth! I might as well tear up that list for all the good it's doing me!_


	8. A Reluctant Partnership

_**I know it's been indecently long since I updated – I'm sorry but writer's block is a stubborn guest and until a week ago I was scared even to open the document. I know I promised an ending in just two more chapters but that doesn't seem possible. **_

_**Thanks to all the reviews, follows and favorites – if not for them, I'd never have opened that document. Thanks to MizJoely for being an awesome beta :)**_

_**All rights to BBC, Moffat and Gattis. I hope you enjoy the story. Please R&R :)**_

* * *

Molly was leaving Bart's when she got the text from Sherlock. "Come to 221B as quickly as possible – need to discuss the Insomnia case" it said. _Insomnia case, huh? That sounds like a normal name. Looks like John hasn't gotten hold of the case yet. Anyway how did he know I just got out of the hospital? Stupid question – he probably has my schedule painted in garish red on a wall in his bloody memory palace,_ she thought as she stood waiting for a cab.

Once she got to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock didn't waste time being the ideal host. The moment she sat down on the sofa usually occupied by John, he started pacing in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back, talking rapidly.

"I can't personally pay the doctor a visit because he'd recognize me from the papers. If he has anything to hide, he'll become very careful and that won't help us. Here's the plan. You go visit him at his office, say you're a fan of his work, wanted to meet him for a long while, you know give him the whole works," he said, waving his left hand in the air. He continued speaking: "After you've sufficiently buttered him up, ask him for a tour of the facility. Once he's out I'll break into his office and see what I can find out. Agreed?" he asked her, eyes locked on her face.

While he was talking, Molly was sitting in the sofa, with a straight back, still clutching her bag and files, looking at Sherlock with rapt attention on her face. After he finished talking, it occurred to her that she probably looked like an eager student to him and so she relaxed her shoulders, placed her bag and files on the arm of the sofa, and leaned back to make herself more comfortable.

Sherlock noticed all these changes with a small amused smirk on his face. Before he could say anything, however, Molly started talking. "Yes, meet him, flatter him and get him out of the office – clear. How long should I keep him out of the office?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Twenty minutes should be sufficient. I'll text you if I need longer, so don't put your phone on silent. Now, the reason I really called you here is to hear the case from you, in your own words."

Molly opened her mouth to interrupt, but before she could say anything he rushed on: "Yes, yes, I know you sent me an e-mail but hearing it usually helps. Gives you the opportunity to be thorough about your case and gives _me _the chance to ask you follow-up questions. So…begin," he said, sitting down on his usual seat and assuming his customary praying mantis pose.

Molly took a moment to get her bearings, then did as he asked. "The mother, Abigail March, was a textbook case and had all the symptoms of fatal familial insomnia. She was divorced a long time ago, so the man she was living with when she died was not her daughter Dawn's father. Abigail was rich. She had her own consulting firm and made a lot of money. She died within one and a half years of getting the first symptoms."

She paused, and when Sherlock didn't say anything, continued. "The daughter died of the same disease. At first I didn't find it suspicious because it's a genetic disease, but when I started reading the details, a lot of things weren't making sense. The daughter is a teenager but familial insomnia does not develop at that age. Also, the report says that she died after being shifted to the hospital – "

"Why should that be suspicious? Maybe her situation was getting worse and she needed continuous medical attention," Sherlock droned, without even opening his eyes.

"There's nothing a hospital can do to stop familial insomnia, the best that can be done is easing the symptoms and that just buys time – eventually the patient dies. A person with her expiry date very much visible to her, would be more comfortable in her own home, don't you think?"

"That's just subjective Molly, doesn't prove anything – "

"The reason cited in the report for shifting her to the hospital," Molly replied in a tone that she was struggling to keep even, "was what you said, that she was getting worse, but the specifics weren't mentioned. A medical report should be exhaustive. The symptoms should be clearly mentioned and reasons should be given for every action the doctor takes. In the case of familial insomnia, there are endless ways the patient can get worse – insanity due to insomnia, organ failure due to physical stress, respiratory problems – a particular reason was never mentioned in the report."

Though he still didn't open his eyes, a small frown appeared on his face. His experience told him that a vague medical report _would_ seem suspicious. Looking at Sherlock's face, Molly grew more confident. She continued speaking.

"She was moved to the hospital approximately two months after her symptoms appeared. Though familial insomnia acts at varying speeds in different patients, two months is still early for any fatal symptoms to appear. And the strangest thing is, she degenerated rapidly once she was shifted to the hospital. In these cases, techniques like meditation and psychological counseling usually help to at least lengthen the patient's life, but it doesn't look like they were used, because she died within four months of entering the hospital. There was no one to request an autopsy, so one was never performed. So…that's it. The report leaves too many questions unanswered," she finished, looking at Sherlock with a hopeful expression.

Sherlock maintained his mantis pose but slowly opened his eyes and looked at Molly with a small smile on his face. "Give me the real reason, Molly."

"I gave all of them, didn't I? There's nothing else," she said in a slightly defensive voice, pressing back in to the sofa and crossing her arms.

"Really Molly? You're going to lie to me?" he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Molly looked at him with mounting hesitation but finally caved in and started speaking in a low, reluctant tone, shifting her gaze to the floor.

"She was alone Sherlock, her mother was gone, her dad far away. The only two persons, who took care of her – her stepfather and the doctor – weren't related to her. It's just that, it seems too convenient for her stepfather, Mark Davis – both of them died leaving him the sole beneficiary of approximately two million pounds. Everything worked out too well for him to be considered an act of Providence. I got suspicious and now I can't stop thinking about it. I _have _to know the truth…" she finished speaking and looked up expecting to find a sneer on his face. Instead, she was a little taken aback to find him staring at her thoughtfully. He didn't look like he was going to talk any time soon so she said hesitantly, "So…am I wrong in being suspicious?"

Her question snapped him out of his reverie and he suddenly sat back, with his back straight as he started speaking in his usual clipped tones, "No, no…you're not. Foul play cannot be ruled out. If it is a murder then the explanation seems simple enough but I can't come to any conclusions without tying up some loose ends. Yes, there's some leg work to be done."

He stood up, walked to the window and while staring outside, continued to speak to Molly. "The plan still stands. You get him out of his office and clear the way for me. I thought investigating the office would be sufficient, but looks like there's more to be done. That's it for now Molly, I'll contact you when I have anything more to share."

That sounded like a dismissal to Molly so she stood up and picked up all her stuff. When her hand was on the door knob, Sherlock, still at the window, turned partially around to look at her and remind her with a rather rakish smile on his face, "Ah, Molly, you do remember the terms of our agreement, don't you? Let's not burden poor Terry anymore."

Molly didn't even turn around but threw him a sullen, "Right" and all but stomped out of the flat.

Sherlock chuckled at the rage apparent in her gait and stood looking down at her as she waited on the pavement outside for a cab. There was a curious expression on his face. Those who didn't know him would've called it an appreciative gaze. Had he been there, John would've promptly told them, "No…he's probably just thinking about a triple homicide" and usually he would be right. But this time the thoughts that accompanied that look were much more…normal._ Your sparring needs a lot more training Molly…You thirst for truth, do you my dear? Dear?! Where the deuce did that come from?!_


End file.
